


The Rocky Cliffs of Holdsden

by LostHeraldry



Series: Saurlexia [1]
Category: Original Work
Genre: Dragon & Human Interactions, Dragon erotica, F/M, Original Character(s)
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-01-03
Updated: 2017-12-21
Packaged: 2018-05-11 05:48:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 4
Words: 12,221
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5616031
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LostHeraldry/pseuds/LostHeraldry
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A nobleman's daughter who has recently married is targeted by his enemies. Old wounds fester anew, and ancient grudges are dredged back into awareness. Elsh Adrey Belsa rises to prominence as the dire continent while the Chosen of Arlei see that her name is glorified yet again.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Castle Zaitur

**The Rocky Cliffs of Holdsden**  
  
Terre: Elsh Adrey Belsa  
Domme: Skylla  
Castle Zaitur  
                                                                                                                                                                                                  Alva 5:830  
                                                                                                                                                                             28th Declension of Arlei  
_“Ignem non discernunt...”_

* * *

 

     Lucywin remembers the suffocating heat. It filled her lungs, and stole her breath. The previously raucous dining hall was filled with wails and screams of terror.Her wedding entourage scattered for the exits and trampled and tripped over her like a forgotten wilted lily. In shock she curled into a ball, and rode out the assault. As the screams became a distant discordant buzz, the heat grew more unbearable. She stuck close to the head table she had shared with her husband. Her hands flailed above on the tabletop, searching. She tipped wine goblets, until she found her target. A washing bowl was shakily snatched up and she doused her head in water. It was a weak balm to soothe her.

She stared at the stone floor, and deep into the cracks. Her hands were shaking so she flattened them against her stomach in a futile attempt to calm herself. Had everyone really just left ? Suddenly the ground shook and the ceiling shifted as fine dust rained down upon her. She coughed. Of course they left. Fool. And you would leave too if a hostile dragon was attacking.

A dragon. Of all things to expect on her wedding day.She must find a safe place. But, this was Castle Zaitur, and it was unknown to her. She had only arrived today for the wedding. Her lord and husband Mychelle Sullock had already left the hall moments before the attack. There had been little warning. There would be enough forces, for a single dragon. If that was the case. A dragon attack was not wholly unexpected. They skirted the coast, and to the west only ocean and wide open sky awaited. This castle must have stood as a true bastion against countless dragonriders, and all ilk of raiders and pillagers. Peace never lasted long.

She lifted herself back into the cushioned seat, using her elbows as a shaky leverage. The Hall was one of the most fortified positions, but it was also one of the more flammable. The wooden rafters above were on fire, and the smoke had nowhere to escape.Why would the dragon purposefully smoke out the Hall? Disrupting a wedding party had to be low on the list of priorities for a dragon to make. Lucywin did not count herself as any sort of scholar on dragon habits. It was curious.

She looked upon the overturned benches and dishes that had been scattered to the floor. Embers floated down and flammable linens and cloth quickly alighted. She closed her eyes only to imagine. She had sat here with her husband at her side only moments before. As she reached to right the goblets she had spilled a voice called out to her.

“My lady! Lord Mychelle sent me back for you.”

“Sir Periam!” Her relief tingled with curiosity.

“Where is Lord Mychelle?” She wrung her fingers together.

“He is rallying the troops and raising the castle defenses as we speak, milady.” His matter-of-fact manner did much to calm her, and she found herself struck with a twinge of pride. Her husband was leading the charge, and protecting them all.

“We must leave. There’s a way. If I can....” He gripped her elbow gently and ushered her from her comfortable seat. With a clear goal in mind Periam was dogged until the end, or so her father was fond of telling her. Periam had come to her home at Castle Boldshore when he was still a page. Her father was put in charge of the rest of his training after some objections had been raised about him. He had come with her entourage, but he would have returned after the wedding feast. She had not feared danger at her own wedding ceremony it was just a symbolic gesture.

Periam led the way to the back stairwells. One led up and the other down. She looked to him for which they were meant to take. However he led them back towards the kitchens and through a narrow hall. The already sweltering kitchen was like walking into a fireplace. Oppressive heat made her head spin.

“Red tapestry...with the Sullock crest. Here! I think.” She coughed as her lungs spasmed, and seized in her chest. She collapsed in a heap on the floor. She gripped the cloth above her breasts, and focused on her breathing. In. Out. A shaky in, and a half-aborted out. When she finally lifted her head, her vision swam. She whimpered, and watched Periam disappear behind the tapestry in question. Red. Everything was red. She was going to be consumed by it. It was all that was left.

“My lady!” Periam shuffled to her side and hoisted her up. He was not gentle, but it was not consciously cruel, she could feel his trepidation. She let herself be led into a dark and damp corridor, and hoped only that they would come out again. To the light. Not the red.

The dark was a hard crush and feeling even her slight shoulders being squeezed together made her consider Periam who was walking sideways with knees bent as much as allowed. She noticed now he was helmet-less, and his decorative spaulders and greaves had been scuttled to reveal the leather guards underneath.

Scolding squeaks, told her they were not alone as the rats came from the gloom and scurried across her feet. She could not help stepping on them. They were many. Periam seemed more perturbed and made loud shuffling noises as he kicked them away. Their distressed cries made Lucywin cringe.

She bumped into Periam’s left shoulder, and he put a hand to steady her. “Periam?” Her voice echoed, and she heard the soft flow of water, and what sounded like splashing of small bodies. The sewers were before them. As her eyes adjusted into the low light, she saw the source of the sounds. Rats. Dozens of them.

“We’ll follow the rats for now. They seem to know where to go.”

She nodded before agreeing. “Yes.”

“Come, milady.”He sat and pushed off into the narrow stream below. She eyed the stream dubiously.

“I can carry you, if you like?” Periam offered.

“Save your strength Sir Periam, I fear it will be needed.” She coughed again. He reached for her, and helped to lower her safely into the water. When she found a steady equilibrium, he confidently strode ahead. As they trudged through the water, she fought against her gagging reflex. More coughing and some dry heaves later, she decided if there was worst to be had, she could handle it.

As Periam led, more rats accrued and some even tried to crawl onto them. He pushed a persistent rat further past them downstream.  
“What we face next, may not be so small.” Periam mused. As they waded through the waist-high water, with their fellow refugees a heavy clanking and a loud bang above made the water ripple and slosh about them. Following the disturbance, steam rushed towards them.

“What is it?” Was Lucywin’s panicked response.

“Hot sticky tar. The run-off must be made to run into the sewers.” He pulled her out in front.

“Hurry, my lady.” Being scalded alive was not a gallant death in Sir Periam’s opinion. Lucywin tread in front as she saw more light, and the reflective bounce of water. They had reached the end where the sewers emptied into the moat. But, they were blocked in. A metal grill covered the exit, a precaution against daring marauders, but a hindrance for people with nowhere left to go.

As they hit the dead end Periam rattled the iron bars, searching desperately for a weakness. And there it was. A rusty lock. Periam unsheathed his sword and bashed at it. “Stand back!”

Lucywin choked back her coughs as she hung back to allow him room to maneuver. She felt the heat on her back, and shook involuntarily. Soon she felt more than the heat, rats were crawling onto her and latching onto her like a lifeline. She felt a thrill of giddiness run through her, but her thoughts turned dark. At least she would not die alone.

Periam hit his mark again and again, time felt fuzzy and hazy. He heard a resplendent splash, and could barely comprehend that freedom had been won as he barreled into the gate and flung himself off into the moat. He gave a surprised strangled cry, before he made an impressive splash. Lucywin scrambled behind him, and took no fewer than a dozen rats with her in her staggered fall into the moat where Periam waited. She sank like a stone, and Periam dove for her. He hooked his arm underneath her armpit, and swam straight up. She spluttered at the surface, but tried to remain very still, as he held onto her and made strong strokes away from the sewers.

They did not make it far before the steam blasted out in full force, and hot tar oozed and hissed into the water.  
His strokes slowed, as the immediate danger passed and they bobbed comfortably in the water as he got his bearings. Going toward the castle was ill advised, enemy archers could fill them full of arrows and scaling its walls would take energy and tools they did not have. The gentle slope of the far grassy bank was, alas, the safest bet for now.  
  
Lucywin exhaled heavily in a sense of relief, as they neared shore. They hit the bottom at a safe height for her to walk in and he let her go and she left his warmth and safety reluctantly. Her legs felt wobbly even though she had been ridden along like a leaf boat in a fast stream.

Periam shifted back into an alert state. He had lost his sword in his tumble, and retrieving it would be dangerous if not impossible. He paced and kept a hand under his chin as he eyed the castle. This was going to be tricky.

Her knight was losing himself in small pieces. Her heart ached for him, as he finally caught his breath. He knelt and swept a keen eye through the forest.

“There is a place.” She tensed at his serious tone.

“A yeoman’s shack. Some weapons.” She fidgeted.

“I must retrieve a blade. Or we’re made before we have a chance.” He rose. Decision made. “Hide yourself in the bushes. Don’t move. Don’t make a sound.” He pushed her back into the tree line.

“I will return.” She knew he spoke the truth.  
  
Lucywin found a thicket further past the tree line, and made herself comfortable. Periam held back until he was satisfied, said his farewells and vanished before her eyes. She rustled about trying to find a position with fewer branches poking into her. The sounds of battle were distant and the dragon’s roars were few and far between. She hoped they were being pushed back by now. A long sustained assault was not viable, when the local dominya came from her centralized position in Absinthion, the capital city. News of what happened at Zaitur Castle would reach her most likely just before dawn. This kind of attack on their borders could not be ignored.

Their current dominya, Zekylides, was in her declining years. But, even a mature male would have trouble taking her on. She had cut her teeth on young upstarts, and many would-be tyrants. Even as far from the rim dragons as they were, reliance on dragons was paramount to survival. This was the way of things. Zekylides herself was part of the Ashlend Socium. A formal association of eight dominya, and the lands they held. Whoever had organized this attack had woefully underestimated the consequences for this action. They had declared war with eight other territories. Who would take on such a risk? What could they possibly gain? Her internal thoughts were interrupted when she heard the crunch of sticks and the heavy footfalls of approaching men. She counted three.

“What exactly did he think he saw?” The leading man asked.

“Some drowned rats?” One piped up from the back.

“A lady, and her gentleman?” The other offered.

“Or so he claimed.”

“They won’t be far.” The so-called leader continued and passed right in front of her hiding spot.

Lucywin seized in terror, but they went further down after Periam’s visible footprints. After she no longer heard them and their inane chatter she untangled herself as quietly as she could, picked up her skirts and ran as she never had before. The sounds of battle became a far din, and the orange sky was left behind.  
She ran until her legs ached, and her lungs burned. And then she ran some more. She tangled in the bramble and brush, and tripped over rock and roots, but she kept moving away from the castle. So focused on escape, she thought back to Periam and their promise. She stumbled again and took it as a small break to finally catch her breath.

Where should she go? Periam did not share the location of the shack. And when he returned she would be gone, and the enemy would still be searching.  
Who had attacked? Was safety close by? Were reinforcements coming? What of her father? He would not stand for this. These thoughts did nothing to reassure her. She needed Periam. Was it too late to turn back?

She crouched down low and listened. Then she bent down and lay her ear to the dirt, as she had in her childhood days when father was rumored to be returning. Her governess had often scolded her for getting her dress dirty. That was the least of her worries. There was some disturbance, but it did not get stronger. It almost seemed to fade away. Then for the first time she really heard it. A deep throaty roar that she felt in her chest. She stayed stock still in the dirt. Reality sunk deep into her, and her heart thrummed an unsteady beat.

Zaitur Castle had been attacked on her wedding day to Mychelle Sullock. If it was a coincidence or opportunity there could have been several targets. Herself included. It all seemed to point to the blood that now seemed to scream in her veins. Her father’s only child, and the source of his future legacy. A legacy he had built on the edge of his blade, and the dead enemies at his feet. He would rise to the challenge as always, even after he had passed off his legacy to Lord Mychelle for safekeeping. Her husband. Even as she sat in the Hall at his side for half an evening it still hadn’t sunk in. Father had approved, and he wouldn’t have approved if the match was not right. He had seen her off, after the papers were all signed and to everyone’s approval. Where had it all gone wrong?

He had kissed her cheek fondly and held her hands gently in his own calloused ones and sent her away from the only home she had ever known. If she was a child she would have cried and clung to him. Mother had stood stiffly at his side, and smiled when Lucywin caught her eye. This was normal, right? Get older, get married, leave home, bear children. This was society’s expectation.

Her father would be a proud grandfather, but Lucywin had never felt like a good daughter. Would children fill the missing void, or bury her even further? Lord Mychelle was a kind and comely man, but could he make her happy? Was her happiness even required? Tears she had not allowed to fall before, filled her eyes and blurred her vision. She wiped them, and sniffed. She should not be feeling sorry for herself out in the woods while Zaitur Castle burned and its defenders stood and fell. She was no warrior, but she was her father’s daughter. Bravery was in her blood. She may never carry a blade, or raise a shield, and stand side-by-side with fellow combatants, but as she lived and breathed she made a difference.As she rose from the dirt, her resolve hardened. She looked back onto the ominous orange sky and rushed back towards it.  
  
She wasn’t there. And he was no longer alone. If he had more foresight he would have been more careful, but time was not on his side. He gripped the foreign sword, the weight unbalanced to his style which was focused on light footwork and quick jabs. Finesse in killing ones enemies was the hallmark of a knight. He was not a knight tonight, but just another common butcher. The enemy were three, unarmored men. They all wore large recurves, but the one currently sneering at him had a small dagger out and ready. The other two held back, one readied his bow. Why didn’t they just kill him at distance?

“Sirs.” He bowed slightly. “Fine night for a stroll.”

“Where’s the other one?” Sir Dagger demanded.

“A girl weren’t she?”

“The girl,” There’s a story there. Periam thought.

“The bride!” One spat at him impetuously.

“The orders were to bring her in alive.” The dagger-bearer provided.

“The marriage bed here is a little too hot, no? She’ll be taken care of somewhere else.” It was Periam’s turn to sneer.

“Are you Lord Husband Mychelle of whatsit?”

“I haven’t the honor.”

“Kill’em.” The dagger-man had the gall to turn his back to Periam and berate his colleague.

“I can’t kill him. He knows where the girl went.”

“So ask him where she is.”

“I was getting to it. So?”

“So.”

“Where did the little lady get to, Sir Knight?”

“Haven’t the slightest.”

“Told ya to just kill’em.” They began to close around him.  
  
“Perry!” Periam started at her voice. His new companions did as well and the bowmen turned those sharp tips towards her. Periam knew a chance when he saw it. While all eyes turned to her he rushed the dagger-man, aiming for the soft flesh of his belly. The man screamed in agony and dropped the dagger to clutch at his stomach. The rude one had turned back from Lucywin, but the other one had already pounced upon her. An arrow was readied, but Periam had closed in too quickly. The draw was shallow and the arrow fell into the dirt. His target gripped his bow and held it up like a shield to block his blow; string first. It snapped as his blade bit into his neck. Periam pulled back and severed the man’s neck to his spine. The lifeless husk crumpled in a heap at his feet. Last man standing.  
The man in question had Lucywin in a chokehold, and an arrow tip at her jugular. It bit in slightly when Periam turned his full attention on him.

“You do anything to her and you’re dead.”

“Y-you killed him!” The man’s face scrunched up, and his eyes looked around wildly. He slowly drew Lucywin back with him, towards the moat. He yelled back at the castle. “Help! I’ve the girl! Help!”

Periam snarled and jumped into the moat with him. The man panicked and pushed Lucywin into the deep end of the water. She spluttered and thrashed about. Periam rounded on the man and tackled him into the water to stop any further yelling. Periam heard a disturbance on the ramparts, and prayed it was Lord Mychelle’s troops. He took his own dagger and thrust it into Lucywin’s attacker’s exposed neck. The attacker gurgled and clutched his throat. Periam pushed him bodily off into the deep, but away from Lucywin.

Lucywin scrambled for purchase on the moat floor but only the tips of her toes reached the cut-off and it only served to push her further away. She made a strangled sound of frustration, and the water to her right which had been a frenzy of disturbed silt seemed further clouded. She hoped Periam was unhurt, and wished not for the first time that she knew how to swim. As she reached our for the orange surface, a hand found her own. She was pulled up and into Periam’s broad chest. She hacked out moat water, and wrinkled her nose. “Tar.” Periam gave a sigh of relief, and guided her back to shore.

The wounded dagger-man had managed to wander away. Periam gave a cluck of disapproval. Then the sound. A horn sounded the sorrowful call for retreat. Not for the attackers but for the defenders of Castle Zaitur. The victorious bellow of a dragon rang out over the ramparts and Lucywin sagged into Periam.

Castle Zaitur was lost.

_"Fire does not discriminate."_

 


	2. Take Leave

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lucywin comes to grips with both current events and the events that led up to her marriage.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Terre: Elsh Adrey Belsa  
Domme: Skylla  
Castle Zaitur (Proximate)  
                                                                                                                                                                                                           Alva 5:830  
                                                                                                                                                                                               28th Declension of Arlei

Take Leave

The yeoman shack had been well hidden. It was shocking to her that so many people could live so closely together in so confined a space. She could be in her expansive room at Boldshore and never see another member of her family until she ventured outside. Here, there was no escape. There was a small fireplace, a mantle full of spices, herbs, and utensils, a table full of food and dishes, and a small loft nestled against the chimney. The larger bed was on floor level. Periam claimed that three—soon to be four people lived here. She hoped wherever they may be, they were safe, and that someday she could thank them for the shelter of their home.

She sat in front of the cold unlit fireplace, wrapped in the bed’s only quilt. Her clothes had been strung out and hung to dry. She had borrowed clothes from who she suspected was the woman of the house. They were loose on her, but dry. They smelled like sweat and fresh bread. While the bread may have been fresh earlier, eating it now revealed it to be hard and stale. Still, it was a comfort. She had only nervously sipped wine at her own wedding banquet. She frowned and looked out the single window to see if she could catch a glimpse of her stalwart knight.

Periam stood sentry outside. He had refused to take off his leather guards, and had opted only to dry his hair and face. Better this way. Was all he had muttered, when she raised her own concerns.

She squirmed more in her chair as a natural need suddenly became more pressing. She rose and opened the door. Periam was leaning against a tree and gazing toward the castle.

  
“Ah, Periam is there a privy or—” Periam laughed, but appeared chastised at her quizzical look.

  
“I apologize my lady, I did not intend to mock. One moment.” He came back with a bucket. “Feel free to use it inside, I will—empty it.”

A bucket did not differ so much from a chamber pot, she surmised as she turned it in her hands. But, a bucket had many different uses and she had a feeling this wasn’t one of them. At least in the day to day. Lucywin had in a moment of need out in the hills riding, used a bushy area to do her business. The concept was not foreign to her, but its everyday utility was. Using bushes daily seemed such an inconvenience. She had read that in the larger cities of Solmundstrom, the slaves there had grand aqueducts and sweeping sewage systems. Perhaps, lauding dragons half a world away from her for being the epitome of cleanliness in order to better keep a high volume of healthy slaves cloistered together was not the best line of thinking for now. But, the alternative—. She placed the bucket back outside after using it, and began worrying at her lip.

  
She went back to her chair, and wrapped the quilt tighter around her. Periam was keeping very quiet outside. He had stressed to her, there was nothing else, but to wait. She was used to waiting, but a book was often in hand’s reach in the meantime. Whilst she had taken a closer look around the small shack, she had consciously kept an eye out for a leather-bound spine with wondrous words whirled within. Nothing.  
She bounced her feet in front of her. Very unladylike, she heard her governess hiss as if she was beside her. She almost slumped as she had in that moment. That had earned her a sharp slap on her thigh. It bruised for days.

  
She worried for Boldshore Castle now. It was in the interior of Skylla, but it was beside a busy waterway. The attack could have been more coordinated and more widespread than they could have ever imagined.

  
She heard noise outside. Rising to investigate she quietly made her way to the window. Periam had left his post. There were voices then. She stood immobile near the doorway. The voices were low, deep, somewhat rushed. They were not aggressive. There was no sudden loud clashing of blades. Hope bloomed within her chest. There were survivors yet, and allied forces they could reconnect with.

Dawn was just starting to peek over the hilly forest. A light fog, a frequent sight of Elsh Adrey Belsa, blanketed the earth, but it usually cleared when the sun had crested. She fidgeted and picked at her loose clothing. She tried to not think of what awaited her outside. A flash of reds and oranges momentarily seized her. She sat in a daze, seeing nothing. She flinched and launched herself from the chair when the door was thrown open.

  
“Lady Lucywin?” Periam intoned as the person he had been exchanging with stepped in.

  
He was young, younger even than her own husband. He had ash and gore stuck in his messy hair. He was fully armored, save his helmet which was held at his side. His eyes were very alert. She stood stiffly and straightened her back to her full height, and rubbed her hands. “Would you sit, Sir?” Was her well-bred response.

  
“No, my lady.” He spoke as an inferior who imposed upon a superior. He bowed stiffly as Periam ducked into the shack as well.

  
“Lady Lucywin, this is Marmen Bocleah. He worked under Constable Auklaine, as a leader of an auxiliary lance.”

  
“I have—news.”

  
“News?” She frowned. About the enemy? Where the retreat was? How many survived? How many were killed? About reinforcements? This wasn’t right. Where was her husband? Wasn’t he worried about her? This man wasn’t even a knight—

  
“Lord Mychelle is dead.”

Lucywin had started her wedding procession in the carriage as was expected of her. But, as she entered Sullock territory she insisted on riding horseback. For the occasion she wore a simple blue riding habit. The sleeves were slim and her cuffs though large were trim and gave her easy control over the reigns. Under a billowing skirt she wore comfortable breeches. Her hair had been coiffed and pinned tightly to resist wind and the rigors of a long travel. Her head was topped with a matching bonnet that had an airy black and white pinstriped ribbon securing flowers from her mother’s gardens. She was glad for the opportunity to see her future husband’s lands in greater detail. Even a cursory look was worth weathering, to get out of the rickety carriage. If her entourage thought her strange to not bar herself inside the carriage until they reached Zaitur Hill, they showed little sign of it.

  
Her hold had an affinity for horseflesh; she was no exception. She had scarcely learned to walk when she was first given a small pony. She found a good run with a good horse in the sunlight lifted her spirits as high as an enthralling book in the dim library. It was often a welcome change of pace or a way to escape tutors or her governess. She had traveled all around her father’s lands. She was in little danger as she explored the hills of her homeland. She had been taught not to ride recklessly and put herself or her horse in danger. Someday she hoped to familiarize herself with her husband’s lands in the same way.

  
Periam had insisted she ride fore of him and behind the carriage. He claimed it was “his head” that would be up if anything happened to her. _Dutiful to the end. She had thought. He had surely come as a favor to her father. Lord Lukewald Valknor had followed only as far as the crossing of Allemund River. He waved and did not move from across the bridge, and it was only as they snaked through the trees and gone downhill did she stop looking back for the speck, she swore was her tall father. Periam did not bring his squire or a change of horse. She didn’t expect a brigand attack anytime soon, and the Sullock Knights had formed up around them as soon as they had entered their duchy. Periam had exchanged pleasantries and flung introductions around as her horse was readied for riding. Periam had allowed her a turn, up and down the procession, but had marched her back to the carriage where she remained at a steady pace._

  
As they passed through any village, a young squire would announce them and read from the official banns. She felt her cheeks color, when people inevitably stared at her. The commoners had been given a days reprieve from toiling on their lands and stood along the road to greet the entourage. It was not everyday a Lord of Zaitur Castle, welcomed a bride.

  
Children chased after them enthusiastically. One of her handmaidens handed out the blue cornflower treats they were after. A staple at a marriage of this caliber and a sweet treat, that children and the young at heart enjoyed.

  
A friendly young Sullock knight whose name she had missed, in his quick upbeat introduction, had taken upon himself to point out the watchtowers, and which ones he had been attached to. They stretched all the way to the capital, and were the best warning system they had. They had to reach above creeping mist, and below low hanging clouds. They stood like gray monoliths and had stood the test of time and seen the fires of war rage across the forests and fields too many times to be counted. Whether it was by smoke in daytime, or by fire at nighttime, watchtowers were a vital means of communication.

  
It was said that once there had been as many dominya as there had been watchtowers. Instead nowadays dominya were stretched thin on Elsh Adrey Belsa. While that should have made them easier prey to outside tyrants, even outside conquerors were rare. They barely lasted a single human generation and since the Ashlend Socium had been formed, none have come close to calling themselves a true victor. To the far north above the Old Scar, no dominya had successfully ruled for seven generations. It was rumored to be cursed.

  
The last self-styled ruler had enslaved the inhabitants and forced them to dismantle their own watchtowers. It was rumored the stone was then used to create a monstrous death pit, where all the humans were sealed inside and forced to cannibalize each other until everyone eventually all died. No one would brave the Black Run, the swatch of dead forest and decay, that surrounded the Old Scar to find out the truth. But, sailors claimed they could see the death pit from shore, and hear the shrieking echoes of the dead.

  
She allowed her eyes to follow the line of the watchtower to its pinnacle. The proud Sullock banners flapped in the wind—beside her families. She smiled. And was reminded of when she had first been forced to recognize the importance of the Sullock crest.

Her nose was in a portable book one of her cousins, had gifted her: in exchange for her silence. She had once enjoyed the gardens, but now that Gemmat was visiting, she used them for most of her illicit rendezvous. Lucywin learned that if she wanted to keep any of the mysteries of the dealings between men and women, she should avoid the gardens. But, like a fool her body took the same route, and she took a hard turn as she heard the tell-tale giggling and lusty sighs. She carefully marked her place with a silk string, and snapped the book shut. She planned her next move in the archway leading outside, but her thoughts turned back to Gemmat after shrill laughter echoed into the usually quiet hallways.

  
Gemmat had always been demanding of others attention. Male or female. After she sensed Lucywin was not interested in the vapid gossip from Absinthion, she had gone to others for companionship. She was already married, but her husband was often working for the dominya and traveled all over. Their family had a long and deep relationship with Zekylides. Their family had been one of the first raised to nobility, in the restructuring of Zekylides reign as dominya. They had a strong presence in the capital, but her father had been more interested in keeping Allemunde River safe, and keeping a close eye on the north. Boldshore was as far as Zekylides was willing to allow one of her most fastidious dukes to go from the capital. Father had always been the adventurous type. Mother would often say so in that disapproving tone she used so well.

  
Gemmat’s wandering appetites were no secret, it was almost a joke in the family. She would face no harsh censure, because she was a member of the proud Valknor bloodline. Lucywin flipped the book in her hands, which had a been an updated law code that had required her complete attention. Inside were all the tangled treaties and accords that had been passed into effect in the last five years. Lucywin once more considered the morality of using ones family name to protect oneself even in the face of immoral behavior. Gemmat’s actions were cute compared to some of her more violent male cousins. One she had heard was nothing, but a womanizing drunk, who raved night and day in the capital. He mocked his betters, reproached his peers, and abused his lessers. Another had killed in a public spectacle that had been retold in every household twice over. He had only been sent away from the capital, and the Valknor family had shelled out a hefty sum for the family of the young man he had killed. Those were the ones that had come to light, she shuddered to think of any of the other dark rumors that seemed to snake out of Absinthion regarding her family. She studied the cover of the law book, and felt tainted by her association to her wayward relatives. Her proud heritage deserved better. She scoffed and pivoted in the hallway, returning to her private chambers.

“I would like to lodge a complaint.”

Periam looked up from his boot polishing.

“Pardon, milady?"

“You’re in charge of the assize in Boldshore, for the time being aren’t you?”

“Yes?” Periam righted himself to gauge her properly. Her eyes were bright and intense. What problems could possibly cause a lady such distress?

“Gemmat is cheating on her husband.”

“Yes, I heard the latest in the barracks last night.” He relaxed and regarded her again.

“I read her marriage contract, that’s not allowed.”

“You read all of it?”

“It’s in the family records.His family hasn’t the status to bring these charges forward otherwise, so I will bring them on his behalf. As my cousins peer.”

A small smirk graced his lips. “Very well. I will need your personal account of this infidelity.”

“Mine?”

“You did witness this infidelity yourself?” He prodded.

“Well, I—” Her cheeks paled at the thought. He arched a brow. Periam pushed back from his seat and folded his hands which went to cover his mouth.

“How much did you see?”

“Enough, but not enough to be a witness.” She admitted.

“That is unfortunate.” Periam leaned back into his chair and watched her with a fond twinkle in his eye. “If that is all Lady Lucywin, I would return to my duty.” He swept his hands back to his unfinished boots. She bowed shortly, and traipsed back to her rooms to plan her next move.

Those moves turned into subterfuge, and spying on Gemmat and her many paramours. She had her ladies-in-waiting provide simple clothes, and she wore a plain white cap like a servant’s. Gemmat was hard to miss, and her trysts were even less discreet. Lucywin documented all of this and more. Noting the time of day, the place, and the participants. Though the subject matter was scandalous, she felt only a righteous duty to carry this out to its end.

As Periam sat at his post again, Lucywin slammed her evidence onto the table.

“Here, Sir Periam. Your evidence.” He rubbed his neck.

“So it is. I shall disseminate this, and send it to the magistrate for approval.”

In the end it never went that far. Periam, had pledged fealty to the Valknor family and Lucywin’s father Lukewald in particular. He had a duty to disclose the charges against the family name. Gemmat learned soon enough and sent word back to her own father, who in turn sent heated letters to Lukewald. The Valknors in the capital placed their loyalty on Gemmat’s honor and not their distant cousin Lucywin’s zeal.  
Lucywin felt confused. She had only tried to be upright, and correct the wrongs of her peers. Values she had felt needed to be upheld. Surely as a Valknor she had that duty. Why her relatives did not feel as she did baffled her. As they told it Lucywin Valknor had constructed lies to dirty Gemmat’s name and elevate her own. Not only that but, it was out of pure jealousy. Her father took the accusations in his relaxed and calm demeanor and when he was called to the capital soon after, she feared the worst. Lucywin shut herself up in the libraries, as she hoped the furor died down and was simply forgotten. Gemmat had long ago left, after giving Lucywin an earful.

_Motes of bright dust rose all around Lucywin in the quiet library as she sat back to rest her eyes. She had been going over family history again. The affected cursive she was reading was smudged and stained, and she was copying some notes here and there about old feuds and their origin. Their ultimate conclusion. These histories went back to the previous dominya, when her family had been less powerful. They were the personal diaries of a grand dame Valknor, who had never shied from adversity. It made her feel as less than an outcast. This ancestor had faced discord within her family and had prevailed. The outcome was a strengthened Valknor._

In her own room, on her painted desk were wads of manuscript of her many aborted letters to cousin Gemmat. Apologies, and pleasantries. They felt hollow. She tipped her head back and relaxed her shoulders as her hands dangled at her sides. She sighed deeply. She sat back up with her eyes closed as she willed the ink to dry so she could gather her things and return to her chambers.

Mother had been especially critical of her when all the drama had unfolded, and told her that she should not have introduced rancor to the Valknor family in this way. None would welcome her in the capital now. And all those books in the Grand Library would not be touched and poured over extensively as she had dreamed of. She huffed, and examined her fingers for ink smudges. She rose to the water basin, and the nearby small towel rack that had been set up by the windows. She focused on the feel of the cool water, and watched the water turn inky and dark. She whirled a fanciful pattern onto the water surface, before looking up and seeing a familiar reflection peering at her in the glass. She gasped and turned quickly.  
Her visitor drew up on himself, at her exaggerated reaction. She schooled herself back into a more proper stance. It was Cevald Eldirk, her father’s constable, and a very dear family friend. He gave a small bow. She returned it. He openly regarded the spacious library, and her scattered papers and books at the table she had claimed.

“Reading again, I see?” If he had been anyone else she would have politely taken this throwaway comment as banal and ignored it. But, Cevald was a special case. He had only been nice and respectful to her since her girlhood. He had left a cushy job in the capital and followed her father out here to Boldshore. He had taught her how to better handle and care for horses, and how to read the land. He had told her the names of certain types of wildflowers and some of their medicinal uses. He was a natural and gentle teacher.

“Of course, Sir Cevald.” She nodded respectfully, and smiled serenely back at him. Seeing his face always made her reminisce about warm sunny days spent on horseback. He had fewer gray hairs in his beard back then.”To what do I owe the honor?”  
His brows drew up, at perhaps what he thought was her facetious tone. Her smile stayed, and she finally peered at his hands which had been held at his side since his arrival. The smile grew. He held several thick leather-bound books closely to his left side. She quickly moved to his side, and asked with her eyes if she could relieve him of them. He laughed, and turned to the table. She cleared it to make room and he pulled up a chair.

“Straight from the capital.” She tensed slightly at the mention of the capital, but the burning thirst for knowledge did not dim in her eyes as she sized up the two books he laid out before her.

A travelers journal of far Datarr and a history on the three sisters: Elsh, Adrey, and Belsa. The dragons whom had discovered this terre many years ago.

“They’re wonderful, Sir Cevald. I will treasure them.” She hugged the leather-bound embossed book to her chest. He gave a slight nod, and she returned a small dip of her head. He hesitated to dismiss himself. She opened her mouth to invite him to lunch, but an old doddering scribe with an arm full of paper traipsed into the library. He frowned at their presence and went to the back booth he worked from mumbling under his breath. He was just another person she wanted to avoid. He often lectured at her the inferiority of a woman’s ability in the field of reading and writing. At length. Unprompted.

She gave a little huff, and Cevald gave her a sympathetic look.

“Sir Cevald, would you have lunch with me?” She blurted. He gave a surprised look. And she turned her face away, abashed at her own behavior. A grunt of disapproval rang from behind a booth. Cevald laughed, and Lucywin felt her cheeks color in return.

“I would love to. If the lady so wishes.” She nodded her head vigorously, and hurriedly gathered up her papers and books. Cevald offered to help, but she waved him away.

Afterwards a maid had been notified of their wish to lunch outside. They sat outside at a shaded table in one of her mother’s prized gardens. The sudden brightness and colors made Lucywin’s eyes tear up, but Cevald gallantly averted his eyes as she dabbed at her eyes with a napkin. Trays were set and tea was poured. Lucywin preferred a bitter tea, with a slight minty edge. It was commonly called Scribe’s Aide, Watcher’s Aide, or swift tea. She had never liked the light sweet things her mother created with herbs and flowers from her garden.

“Father is very disappointed in me isn’t he?” Lucywin did not have the courage to approach her father directly on the subject of the family quarrel. He seemed his amiable self, and dinner conversation seemed much the same. Mother had dropped a few needling remarks, but Lucywin was used to those by now.

“Not at all, my lady. Lord Lukewald is a man of true integrity. He is proud to have a daughter like you.”  
Lucywin quickly averted her head. Her lips and chin trembled even as she tried to control her emotions. She looked down into her tea, and as it started to blur a flash of white entered her field of vision. Cevald had proffered his handkerchief. She grabbed it and dabbed at her eyes, but kept her face averted from Sir Cevald.

“Thank you, Sir Cevald.” At that moment she was sure that things would go back to the way they were. She was wrong.

Several short weeks later, it was announced that she would be marrying Lord Mychelle Sullock, who had recently inherited the duchy from his father, who retired. The young lord was in need of a young wife, and Lucywin was of age, rank, and availability. The marriage terms were the standard. The bride paid a dowry. The bride would be returned without dowry if in four years time she did not bear children. If Lucywin died before four years without providing children, her dowry was returned to her parents. Taking a Valknor bride was substantial, but the Sullock name was not one Lucywin was familiar with.

The news first came from her mother, almost as an afterthought at breakfast. Lucywin had excused herself, and scurried for the stables. She took out the most furious of the chargers, and let him loose upon the earth. She had cried, and clutched at his mane after he had satisfied himself. The sun was nearly set, as he trotted back to the stables for his rubdown with his favorite stable hand who would sneak him treats when no one else was around. Lucywin dismounted on shaky legs. She would face this with grace. It was her duty.

 

“Periam and Cevald were looking for you.”

 

“I apologize, mother.”

Surprisingly, there was no further rebuke on that day. She was swept away with her mother’s steady grip at her elbow. And watched with disinterest as her trousseau was furnished for the bridal procession to Sullock territory. The maids chattered excitedly to themselves as they handled the fabrics, linens, and jewelry that were prepared for Lucywin. Gifts from the capital would come grudgingly, Lucywin thought bitterly. The notes that would come with them, she planned to burn without ever reading them.

Whenever she got a moment alone she retreated back into the darkest corner of the library with the Sullock family registry. It was not as extensive as her own, but it was respectable. It went back as far as three dominya hence.

“It will not be so terrible.” Neulissa assured her daughter. “It is expected of us, and our children.”

As they arranged her trousseau, her mother lovingly prepared roots and starter seeds for Lucywin’s own garden. “I started my roses with cuts from my mother’s. I hoped you could do the same, and think of me when they bloom.” Lucywin already felt an orphan of her name and birthright. Her parents would be distant strangers, instead of close ones.

“Write when you are able. Your father will worry if you don’t.”

 

 

Her husband had taken her hand so gently when they arrived at the altar. The ornate jar covered in enemies of the state and beyond, which represented the evils they might face had smashed so well. It had been a good omen.

 

Everything had gone so very wrong. She did not remember falling to her knees. But, here she was on the dirt floor, shaking, with tears streaming down her face. She did not wail, a lady suffered in dignity. It felt like all breath had fled from her, and she hung on a sharp precipice with a long drop. She feared the fall. The auxiliary leader had excused himself after his clumsy attempts to comfort her had failed. It was nothing he had done. She hoped he understood. Periam stayed. After her blurry eyes could no longer stand to see the parched earth soak up her tears she turned to Periam and gripped him close burying her face in his chest. His broad chest centered her quaking body as sobs wracked her body.

 

She was alone in the shack again. Grief had exhausted her, and even eating old stale bread seemed too momentous a task. She was a widow. And the ousted mistress of Castle Zaitur. It would be expected of her to avenge her husband and rally the troops in his name. They didn’t __really__ need her, she was a mere figurehead. She was a stranger here, they had lost a leader and their home. They didn’t need her to pile on some sense of duty to their own loss. Some might pity the widow, others might blame her. It was all for the benefit of a man she had only met yesterday. The man who was meant to be her partner in life.

Periam came back into the shack. He had been talking to several different voices and he had procured horses. She had heard their soft whinnying and their pawing as they shifted about near the trees they had been tied down to.

“My lady.” His tone was empathetic, but it held the bite of resolve. She could only think of her true home as the safest escape.

“Are we returning to Boldshore?”

“Yes, and quickly. They are building up the castle’s defenses, and it looks like they are gearing up to defend it.”

“The dragon?”

“No one has seen it, since last night.” The dragon was being elusive. Her curiosity was piqued despite the situation.

“Also there is this.” He had procured new clothes. Men’s clothes. As she changed, she imagined that this is how it felt to go to war. Shedding a different side of yourself, and preparing your body for a strange new reality. Of blood and gore. Of rage and fear. To protect and to maim. The large flowing dress, slipped to the floor, and she suited up to face her new reality.

 She had been provided a satchel of provisions, and as an afterthought she stuffed her wedding dress inside it. She had been tempted to leave it in the wardrobe inside the shack, but it had some sentimental value to her, even laced with the loss.

She found herself outside the shack, and she stuttered to a stop, as if lost. Periam stood by her horse ready to give her a leg-up on the steed, but she stuck her foot in the stirrup with her over-sized boots, and swung her other leg up with ease. She wore the breeches that she had been provided, they were tight, more fit for a slender male youth.

She led her horse, and was surprised at the haughty resistance he regarded her with. He was testing her, as she tested him. He was certainly a war beast. She patted his neck, and put more force in the reins with her next turnabout. He complied, but stomped as they came to a stop. She could appreciate a horse with spirit. She rubbed his neck again.

Periam hefted some leather guards on his shoulder and moved to her to secure them to her right thigh, while a squire did the same on her left. After checking that the fastenings on the guards were secure, the squire fetched the large matching chest piece. She eyed it dubiously. They lifted it up and over her and lowered it onto her chest. It was an arming doublet. It had points for attachable armor. She regarded it dazedly. She blinked at Periam. “Do you expect me to fight?”

“No, my lady. I expect you to be in combat.”

“It’s not the same thing?” She winced as it cinched harshly at her waist.

“Tight, my lady?”

“Nothing I’m not used to.”

“I’m aware of the fashions, but I need you to breathe.” He loosened it up, and stepped back. His expression turned for the serious.

“Sir Periam,” she asked in a tinny voice.

“Remind me to apologize to your father.” He said softly. She fell silent again as they attached a belt with attached faulds. They fell past her thighs, and seemed flexible enough. Spaulders came next, and the extra weights on her shoulders did not go unnoticed. She felt herself listing to the left side, as the squire had finished his side quicker. Her balance evened out, as Periam finished. The effect was finished with a small leather shield, and a helmet. Lucywin felt suffocated by the helmet most of all. Her ability to see her surroundings was reduced as was her ease of movement. Her hair was bunched up inside, and she felt hot and sweaty already. She bit her tongue so no complaints would slip out. This was for her own safety.

Periam got into saddle, and she noticed he had armored up again. It was older, more worn and less polished than his usual, but it was sturdy just the same. He got a feel for his own horse, nodded to her and led the way at a steady trot.

They avoided the roads and stuck to the trees. The trees would end soon though, there were crop fields ahead. Troops had moved ahead of them and warned the villagers to clear out. Lucywin, noticed no signs of razing. She glanced back at the castle. It was only a matter of time. They would crush resistance, and enslave the people. She turned forward again, her brow furrowed. They would return Zaitur Castle back to rights.

The high noon sun was above them by the time they left the crop clearings behind, and settled back into a slower pace in the forest. They should have been spotted at some point in the fields. The anticipation of further confrontation had Lucywin’s grip on the reins turn painfully tight. Periam was leader of their small lance. It was comprised of two chargers; armed with spears, one archer, and one swordsman. Tension suddenly swept through the men. The horses had felt it first, and Lucywin couldn’t help the tightening of her thighs as if readying to kick her horse into a frenzied run.

The sharp twang of bowstring and the soft whistle of air through the arrow fletching revealed the enemy. A volley of arrows had focused on the horses in order to dismount their riders. The cry of animal and man alike broke the quiet midday air. A struck horse reared up and tossed it’s rider as it kicked up loam and grass and ran straight for the enemy line. Several men who served as couriers for news, quickly broke off and rushed toward their intended targets. The rest engaged the forces sent to impede them. The lance’s chargers rushed ahead, and cleared a small path. They distracted the bowmen, and harassed them long enough for the lance’s own archer. He had held back, and choose his targets at his own leisure. He took out two enemy archers, before he was singled out and struck. He fell from his horse and it too broke rank and charged the enemy line. Lucywin was immediately struck with the desire to jump off her own horse and aid him if she could. As she battled with that decision. Periam’s horse rushed to her right flank.

“Stay close to me!” Periam bellowed, as he led them toward an embankment. Footing was slick as they went down, and the leaf and litter covered any hidden obstacles. She grit her teeth at the choppy descent and as her blood pounded in her ears. Branches soundly hit her helmet, but her steed hardly seemed bothered as they hindered and scratched at them both. She had leaned forward until her torso was parallel with the muscled neck of her horse. She closed her eyes and entrusted the horse and Periam to get them safely through.

They had not gone unnoticed. Pursuers took up the chase. Periam only had a sword, and she only had her shield. The closest enemy brought his horse to bear behind her. Periam pulled back from the lead, and swiped at him. They kept their distance from each other after that.

The pursuers had no qualms about tiring the horses they rode, and Lucywin felt her stomach drop as they raced in a large arc out of sword range to end up in front of them.

Periam watched the two in front as the ones at their back slowed to box them in. They had managed to catch them in a clearing with less trees, but heedless Periam centered himself between the closest foes.

”Lucywin, cover your horses’ ears!” Lucywin did as asked as Periam yelled, “Paetra portus!”

Lucywin watched in fascination as the enemies’ horses suddenly started bucking and thrashing violently. As the men were violently bucked off, Periam was already upon the former riders. Two were dispatched easily, but the other pair had readied themselves in that time. Lucywin pulled the shield attached to her arm closer to her chest and readied herself for whatever may happen next. Never taking his eyes off of the enemy Periam addressed her.

“Lady Lucywin, keep going.”

“I can’t.”

“I still have to apologize to your father. I keep my promises.”She believed him.

Her warhorse seemed more hesitant than she did about leaving. She managed to turn her back to Periam, to set out on the path toward home. Safety. The familiar. She did not travel alone too far after leaving her faithful knight behind.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is for those who had read the first chapter, left kudos, and subscribed! I love you all!


	3. What Burns Brightest

Terre: Elsh Adrey Belsa

Domme: Skylla

Alva 5:830

28th Declension of Arlei

What Burns Brightest

“Castle Zaitur burns” was the first missive. It ran through the watchtowers, and reached the capital until the flow of information went silent. That could only mean the tower chain had been compromised at some point. Which was alarming in itself. Details only came trickling out half a day later. A dragon had aided an attack on Castle Zaitur. Absinthion went into high alert and mustered the auxiliaries. Dom. Zekylides was far south on Socium duties, working as a deterrent for brigands who had been far too audacious as of late. Despite her absence auxiliary soldiers were readied at all nearby duchies. Dukes however were required to always remain in their dukedoms as head of their households and armies.

Lord Valknor of Boldshore had his hands tied. High alert meant he was needed at home to stand guard against any incursion that threatened the capital. At an important choke point on Allemunde River, he could not willfully abandon his post.So in his stead Sir Cevald Eldirk would be sent with the best men he could summon.

“I knew this oath was going to come back and bite me someday. Absinthion be damned.” Lukewald stood in his private study with his most trusted friend. His desk was in disarray, with wrinkled maps and unbound paper spread and paperweights on precarious balance near the edge. Anything deemed superfluous had fallen to the floor and been trampled underfoot.  As he loosed a few more choice curses at nothing in particular Cevald, who usually had a gentle reprimand and a quick quip for most situations was peculiarly quiet. Lukewald did not fear any harsh censure here at his own home, but he was not in the most composed state for niceties.

“Poor sportsmen, going after a young bride. Bad judgment going after a Valknor. And short-lived blighters going after my daughter.”

“Periam will keep her safe.” Cevald offered.

“He better.” Lukewald had changed since his daughters birth, but these circumstances were awakening a side of him Cevald had seen when they were young dashers, looking for trouble. In this case trouble had found them, and Lukewald knew it targeted him specifically.

“I knew I had enemies, I didn’t know they were such cowards.” Lukewald gripped his leather gloves as he tossed them down onto the Old Scar on the top right corner of the map of Skylla. They had been in the process of tallying the surrounding duchies auxiliary troops. After they were all organized they would march northwest and topple any resistance they found. A rallying point west of Allemunde River was chosen, as the place to rendezvous. He took a moment to consider the black mark that had always vexed him. The Old Scar had been known since the time of the three founding sisters.

Most lands were claimed and kept by dragons. Humans had not the power of flight and were loyal to a dominya or enslaved by saldrago. He knew nothing but the superiority of the dragon over humanity. It was just the way things had been. But, the roiling eternal decaying swath of land, made a man feel even more powerless. Only the most desperate would go so close, it poisoned everything it came into contact with. Stay too long nearby and you would get “black lung.” A slow death full of coughing fits, until the slow death rattle shook on your last painful breath. Some scholars had dared, other adventurers would follow, none would return unscathed. If they returned at all.

It would be folly to invest any people to uncover its secrets and yet it had been his heart’s desire to simply __know__. He was no closer now, then he had been when he requested Boldshore Castle, which had languished in the greedy grips of a short-sighted land baron.

Cevald had followed and more importantly: had remained. He would need him now more than he ever had. His daughter’s life depended on it. He had no more words to waste with his friend now that the rendezvous had been set. Cevald would be leading the entirety of the auxiliaries.

“I’ll get her back-” Cevald paused as if meaning to add more. “I’ll get her back.”

“That is all I can ask of you, old friend.”

 

Neulissa sipped an extra sweet rose tea in her chambers when Lukewald burst in. Her handmaidens jumped and grew anxious as their Lord paced in front of the fireplace, and she dismissed them with casual flick of her wrist.

When they were alone she spoke.“If she’s dead, I want a divorce-.”

“SHE’S NOT DEAD,” He roared.

“-And a stipend.” She continued despite his outburst.

“Is that right?”A calm fury claimed him, at her matter-of-fact attitude. He gripped the back of the chair across from her.

“Who’ll take care of your precious roses then?”

“They will die without proper care. Like everything else.” She did not even spare a glance at him.

“You’ve made it all too clear, you cared nothing for our daughter, but even at a time like this-” He crumpled under the weight of his noxious emotions.

“Why can’t you be a proper wife?” He threw himself into the chair and held his head in his hands.

“I have been nothing but upfront with my expectations for this marriage.”

“So that’s it then?”

“Who is more the fool? The one who refuses to change, or the one who expects to change another?”

“Poetic. But, fine. I was a fool.” His eyes pinned her to her chair, she set her lips into a firm thin line, at his severe glare.

“You are confined to quarters. I’ll tell everyone you grieve for your daughter’s well-being. Stay inside. You can enjoy the roses in the greenhouse in time. Order the gardener as you will. I’ll divorce you. Whether she lives or not.” He rose and swept past the fireplace, quietly shutting the door behind him.

Neulissa set down her empty teacup on the small table beside her tea service and gazed into the fire long after he had left.

 

Lucywin took time to watch the sunset as it fully settled against the earth. As the lengthening shadows slowly swallowed the light, she stopped in her tracks. She had kept a brisk pace after leaving Periam behind. At first she had had rode hard and fast at the heading she had been instructed to follow. The position of the sun had been her guide as she snaked through trees and bramble, but going on at night was far too dangerous. Her horse was her most precious means of making it home and her only companion. Overtiring him, would not serve her. Neither would wounding him with what pitfalls were now unseen.So despite knowing enemies could be near, she dismounted and fondly patted her horse. She wondered for the first time about his name, and knew at this point a new name could bring horrendously bad luck. So she decided against testing fate at this time. She set about relieving her steed of the heavy bedding and the supplies and minutiae inside the satchels on his rear. She would need to keep his saddle on, she never knew when she must ride again.

As she busied herself making camp in the forest in the low light, her fingers skimmed an embellishment on the right rear saddlebag. She allowed her eyes to focus and saw the Sullock crest and not only that by the initials MS.

With shaking fingers she traced the M. Mychelle. She balled up her hand and brought it to her mouth biting her forefinger as if to punish herself for her own weakness. She pet the horse, in a daze. This horse had been her husbands. “A fine steed, my Lord. A fine steed. I will take care of him. I will-. I promise.”

Her mount seemed unperturbed at her attentions, but as it continued he gently rebuffed her and brought her back to her self. She rubbed her eyes.

“Right you are. Time to take stock.”

She settled herself beside her camp area, at the base of a large dead tree surrounded by thick brush. She would not be easily seen and she had a handy pile of leaves to cover herself in. She divested herself of her helmet with a relieved sigh. She shook out her hair, and combed it with her fingers as it had plastered to her head.The leathers guards she had been fitted in, though unwieldy, would give her some padding on the hard ground. It would be hard to divest herself of them in haste anyway. So on they stayed.She unrolled the thick scratchy blanket that had been provided for her as part of her supply kit.

The strings that had tied up the blanket were in turn tied to a large satchel. After untangling the two from each other she placed the large satchel on top of the blanket, so she she could take a proper stock of her supplies.If she tried hard enough she could pretend it was a picnic. A parcel similar to this would be given to her when she got in the mood to travel Boldshore’s lands. It was like opening a small surprise gift every time. She took a deep breath, and reached inside.

On top was a small parcel of rushlight tied together with twine. That explained the smell. The smell of fat that the rush had been dipped in was strong. Why she would need rushlight, she did not know. She had reading to catch up on sure, but she was in no hurry to do so at the moment. She doubted a rushlight holder would be found inside, as she wondered at its inclusion she placed it on the farthest edge of the blanket she could reach.

Next, was a small waterskin. As she pulled it out she was happy to hear it slosh. There was a larger waterskin still on the saddle, but it would require a knife to remove. It was less for drinking and more for cleaning and sharing with the horse. She had already shared some with her steed as she surveyed their stopping point. The metal cup she had used for them both had a small rope tied to its handle so it would remain secure as well. A small personal waterskin was a boon. Life without water was impossible. She tucked the waterskin beside her.

Surprisingly, an oval glass flask came next. It’s glass was a dark burgundy and the woven basket that protected it from breaking was covering its vintage and and origin. Using her fingers she spied something that looked like “Deira.” A distant provincial territory under control of the Ashlend Socium. It’s dominya was Ebereon, one of the youngest male dragons that allied with them. Deira was known for its rich soil and exported luxuries to the rest of the Socium. She uncorked the bottle with little effort and swirled the contents and let it waft up. The smell was sharp and fruity. It could be currants. Red or black she could not say. It was a rare treat, one she rarely relished herself. She secured the cork back, and pushed the flask just out of reach.

The largest bundle was corn cakes in cheesecloth. Her mouth watered immediately as the sweet breads scent reached her in full force. There had to be a good three dozen inside. They were a small bite size, and she happily swayed in her seated position. She decided to resist eating any for the time and kept them in her lap.

At the very bottom was a folded leather case. As she unbuckled the leather strap that kept it closed, she found a small tool kit: flint and steel, a small knife and whetstone, hook and fishing line, and a needle and thread. All very useful tools for a person on the go. They were all in good condition. Satisfied to have something so useful, she decided to conclude her search of the satchel. She turned the bag upside down to shake out any debris or crumbs, and was surprised when a small pouch fell out.

It was a small ruddy flocked pouch, the kind that kept something precious or expensive. She shook it expecting the metallic chime of scales. Gripping it in her hand it felt solid, so it wasn’t completely empty. She untied the strings and shook its contents onto her palm. It was a ring. She recognized it immediately. After they had exchanged vows, her husband had taken her hand. She had been too embarrassed to stare at his face and had instead fixated on the hand grasping her own. Mychelle’s signet ring.

She nibbled on the corn cakes as she thought of where she should stash Mychelle’s ring at.  The small pouch while unassuming enough would stand out to sharp-eyed thieves so she tied it to her waist and tucked it inside of her pants. She would sew it on but going without pants as the chilly night air settled was not wise. Nor was making a fire, she mused as she thought back about the flint and steel. It was a pity, but making a fire was like yelling “Here I am!” And with a hostile dragon with air superiority it was most inexpedient.

She curled up with the blanket at the base of a tree where she had piled leaves upon sticks. Her husband’s horse pawed at the earth nearby. There had been a rope on one pack, and she made him a short lead, so he could wander close by. She was far too tired to chase the multitude of thoughts that swirled within her. Sleep won.

 

“’Tis only a peasant boy.”A soft voice marveled.

“Woman.” Another pointed out in a flat voice. His lips quivered into a near smile, but the others surrounding her were trying to calm her horse who had gone into an uproar at their presence.

“A peasant with a Sullock destrier? High-bloody-unlikely.” The skinny lad who spoke then tried to move closer to the sleeping figure.

“Leave her be you mongrels.”A feminine voice interceded.

“We weren’t doing nothing, Tilly.” Someone whined.

The quietest footsteps yet came closer, and a small whispered word into the horses ears calmed his ire immediately.

“If she can sleep through that, she deserves the rest. Spread out.”

Silence reigned again.


	4. Glossary

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is going to be a floating Glossary for your convenience. I hope.

I use a bastardized form of Latin in this story, and some slightly more bastardized Latin. I AM BY NO MEANS A LATIN EXPERT. I am only trying my hand at a made-up language. There are several in this series. This glossary will be updated as chapters are posted. This page will have words from the most current chapter so BEWARE OF SPOILERS as the story progresses. If you have any burning questions, I can try and answer them.

 The following terms are from my fictional language: Vicilli. Vicilli is the language of the rim dragons which permeates this entire fictional world.

 

**alva**  
Epoch of time in which this story is set.

**dominya**  
Dragon in charge of territory.

**domme**  
Domain or country.

**saldrago**  
Term for the rim dragons. Neutral connotation.

**socium**  
Partner or partnership.

**terre**  
Land mass or continent.


End file.
